III THE WILD WOOD

The Mole had long wanted to make the I acquaintance of the
Badger. He seemed, by all accounts, to be such an important
personage and, though rarely visible, to make his unseen
influence felt by everybody about the place. But whenever the
Mole mentioned his wish to the Water Rat he always found himself
put off. `It's all right,' the Rat would say. `Badger'll turn
up some day or other--he's always turning up--and then I'll
introduce you. The best of fellows! But you must not only take
him AS you find him, but WHEN you find him.'

`Couldn't you ask him here dinner or something?' said the Mole.

`He wouldn't come,' replied the Rat simply. `Badger hates
Society, and invitations, and dinner, and all that sort of
thing.'

`Well, then, supposing we go and call on HIM?' suggested the
Mole.

`O, I'm sure he wouldn't like that at ALL,' said the Rat,
quite alarmed. `He's so very shy, he'd be sure to be offended.
I've never even ventured to call on him at his own home myself,
though I know him so well. Besides, we can't. It's quite out of
the question, because he lives in the very middle of the Wild
Wood.'

`Well, supposing he does,' said the Mole. `You told me the Wild
Wood was all right, you know.'

`O, I know, I know, so it is,' replied the Rat evasively. `But I
think we won't go there just now. Not JUST yet. It's a long
way, and he wouldn't be at home at this time of year anyhow, and
he'll be coming along some day, if you'll wait quietly.'

The Mole had to be content with this. But the Badger never came
along, and every day brought its amusements, and it was not till
summer was long over, and cold and frost and miry ways kept them
much indoors, and the swollen river raced past outside their
windows with a speed that mocked at boating of any sort or
kind, that he found his thoughts dwelling again with much
persistence on the solitary grey Badger, who lived his own life
by himself, in his hole in the middle of the Wild Wood.

In the winter time the Rat slept a great deal, retiring early and
rising late. During his short day he sometimes scribbled poetry
or did other small domestic jobs about the house; and, of course,
there were always animals dropping in for a chat, and
consequently there was a good deal of story-telling and comparing
notes on the past summer and all its doings.

Such a rich chapter it had been, when one came to look back on it
all! With illustrations so numerous and so very highly coloured!
The pageant of the river bank had marched steadily along,
unfolding itself in scene-pictures that succeeded each other in
stately procession. Purple loosestrife arrived early, shaking
luxuriant tangled locks along the edge of the mirror whence its
own face laughed back at it. Willow-herb, tender and wistful,
like a pink sunset cloud, was not slow to follow. Comfrey, the
purple hand-in-hand with the white, crept forth to take its place
in the line; and at last one morning the diffident and
delaying dog-rose stepped delicately on the stage, and one knew,
as if string-music had announced it in stately chords that
strayed into a gavotte, that June at last was here. One member
of the company was still awaited; the shepherd-boy for the nymphs
to woo, the knight for whom the ladies waited at the window, the
prince that was to kiss the sleeping summer back to life and
love. But when meadow-sweet, debonair and odorous in amber
jerkin, moved graciously to his place in the group, then the play
was ready to begin.

And what a play it had been! Drowsy animals, snug in their holes
while wind and rain were battering at their doors, recalled still
keen mornings, an hour before sunrise, when the white mist, as
yet undispersed, clung closely along the surface of the water;
then the shock of the early plunge, the scamper along the bank,
and the radiant transformation of earth, air, and water, when
suddenly the sun was with them again, and grey was gold and
colour was born and sprang out of the earth once more. They
recalled the languorous siesta of hot mid-day, deep in green
undergrowth, the sun striking through in tiny golden shafts and
spots; the boating and bathing of the afternoon, the rambles
along dusty lanes and through yellow cornfields; and the long,
cool evening at last, when so many threads were gathered up, so
many friendships rounded, and so many adventures planned for the
morrow. There was plenty to talk about on those short winter
days when the animals found themselves round the fire; still, the
Mole had a good deal of spare time on his hands, and so one
afternoon, when the Rat in his arm-chair before the blaze was
alternately dozing and trying over rhymes that wouldn't fit, he
formed the resolution to go out by himself and explore the Wild
Wood, and perhaps strike up an acquaintance with Mr. Badger.

It was a cold still afternoon with a hard steely sky overhead,
when he slipped out of the warm parlour into the open air. The
country lay bare and entirely leafless around him, and he thought
that he had never seen so far and so intimately into the insides
of things as on that winter day when Nature was deep in her
annual slumber and seemed to have kicked the clothes off.
Copses, dells, quarries and all hidden places, which had been
mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer, now exposed
themselves and their secrets pathetically, and seemed to ask him
to overlook their shabby poverty for a while, till they could
riot in rich masquerade as before, and trick and entice him with
the old deceptions. It was pitiful in a way, and yet cheering--
even exhilarating. He was glad that he liked the country
undecorated, hard, and stripped of its finery. He had got down
to the bare bones of it, and they were fine and strong and
simple. He did not want the warm clover and the play of seeding
grasses; the screens of quickset, the billowy drapery of beech
and elm seemed best away; and with great cheerfulness of spirit
he pushed on towards the Wild Wood, which lay before him low and
threatening, like a black reef in some still southern sea.

There was nothing to alarm him at first entry. Twigs crackled
under his feet, logs tripped him, funguses on stumps resembled
caricatures, and startled him for the moment by their likeness to
something familiar and far away; but that was all fun, and
exciting. It led him on, and he penetrated to where the light
was less, and trees crouched nearer and nearer, and holes
made ugly mouths at him on either side.

Everything was very still now. The dusk advanced on him
steadily, rapidly, gathering in behind and before; and the light
seemed to be draining away like flood-water.

Then the faces began.

It was over his shoulder, and indistinctly, that he first thought
he saw a face; a little evil wedge-shaped face, looking out at
him from a hole. When he turned and confronted it, the thing had
vanished.

He quickened his pace, telling himself cheerfully not to begin
imagining things, or there would be simply no end to it. He
passed another hole, and another, and another; and then--yes!--
no!--yes! certainly a little narrow face, with hard eyes, had
flashed up for an instant from a hole, and was gone. He
hesitated--braced himself up for an effort and strode on. Then
suddenly, and as if it had been so all the time, every hole, far
and near, and there were hundreds of them, seemed to possess its
face, coming and going rapidly, all fixing on him glances of
malice and hatred: all hard-eyed and evil and sharp.

If he could only get away from the holes in the banks, he
thought, there would be no more faces. He swung off the path and
plunged into the untrodden places of the wood.

Then the whistling began.

Very faint and shrill it was, and far behind him, when first he
heard it; but somehow it made him hurry forward. Then, still
very faint and shrill, it sounded far ahead of him, and made him
hesitate and want to go back. As he halted in indecision it
broke out on either side, and seemed to be caught up and passed
on throughout the whole length of the wood to its farthest limit.
They were up and alert and ready, evidently, whoever they were!
And he--he was alone, and unarmed, and far from any help; and the
night was closing in.

Then the pattering began.

He thought it was only falling leaves at first, so slight and
delicate was the sound of it. Then as it grew it took a regular
rhythm, and he knew it for nothing else but the pat-pat-pat of
little feet still a very long way off. Was it in front or
behind? It seemed to be first one, and then the other, then
both. It grew and it multiplied, till from every quarter as
he listened anxiously, leaning this way and that, it seemed to be
closing in on him. As he stood still to hearken, a rabbit came
running hard towards him through the trees. He waited, expecting
it to slacken pace, or to swerve from him into a different
course. Instead, the animal almost brushed him as it dashed
past, his face set and hard, his eyes staring. `Get out of this,
you fool, get out!' the Mole heard him mutter as he swung round a
stump and disappeared down a friendly burrow.

The pattering increased till it sounded like sudden hail on the
dry leaf-carpet spread around him. The whole wood seemed running
now, running hard, hunting, chasing, closing in round something
or--somebody? In panic, he began to run too, aimlessly, he knew
not whither. He ran up against things, he fell over things and
into things, he darted under things and dodged round things. At
last he took refuge in the deep dark hollow of an old beech tree,
which offered shelter, concealment--perhaps even safety, but who
could tell? Anyhow, he was too tired to run any further, and
could only snuggle down into the dry leaves which had drifted
into the hollow and hope he was safe for a time. And as he lay
there panting and trembling, and listened to the whistlings and
the patterings outside, he knew it at last, in all its fullness,
that dread thing which other little dwellers in field and
hedgerow had encountered here, and known as their darkest
moment--that thing which the Rat had vainly tried to shield him
from--the Terror of the Wild Wood!

Meantime the Rat, warm and comfortable, dozed by his fireside.
His paper of half-finished verses slipped from his knee, his head
fell back, his mouth opened, and he wandered by the verdant banks
of dream-rivers. Then a coal slipped, the fire crackled and sent
up a spurt of flame, and he woke with a start. Remembering what
he had been engaged upon, he reached down to the floor for his
verses, pored over them for a minute, and then looked round for
the Mole to ask him if he knew a good rhyme for something or
other.

But the Mole was not there.

He listened for a time. The house seemed very quiet.

Then he called `Moly!' several times, and, receiving no
answer, got up and went out into the hall.

The Mole's cap was missing from its accustomed peg. His
goloshes, which always lay by the umbrella-stand, were also gone.

The Rat left the house, and carefully examined the muddy surface
of the ground outside, hoping to find the Mole's tracks. There
they were, sure enough. The goloshes were new, just bought for
the winter, and the pimples on their soles were fresh and sharp.
He could see the imprints of them in the mud, running along
straight and purposeful, leading direct to the Wild Wood.

The Rat looked very grave, and stood in deep thought for a minute
or two. Then he re-entered the house, strapped a belt round his
waist, shoved a brace of pistols into it, took up a stout cudgel
that stood in a corner of the hall, and set off for the Wild Wood
at a smart pace.

It was already getting towards dusk when he reached the first
fringe of trees and plunged without hesitation into the wood,
looking anxiously on either side for any sign of his friend.
Here and there wicked little faces popped out of holes, but
vanished immediately at sight of the valorous animal, his
pistols, and the great ugly cudgel in his grasp; and the
whistling and pattering, which he had heard quite plainly on his
first entry, died away and ceased, and all was very still. He
made his way manfully through the length of the wood, to its
furthest edge; then, forsaking all paths, he set himself to
traverse it, laboriously working over the whole ground, and all
the time calling out cheerfully, `Moly, Moly, Moly! Where are
you? It's me--it's old Rat!'

He had patiently hunted through the wood for an hour or more,
when at last to his joy he heard a little answering cry. Guiding
himself by the sound, he made his way through the gathering
darkness to the foot of an old beech tree, with a hole in it, and
from out of the hole came a feeble voice, saying `Ratty! Is that
really you?'

The Rat crept into the hollow, and there he found the Mole,
exhausted and still trembling. `O Rat!' he cried, `I've been so
frightened, you can't think!'

`O, I quite understand,' said the Rat soothingly. `You shouldn't
really have gone and done it, Mole. I did my best to keep
you from it. We river-bankers, we hardly ever come here by
ourselves. If we have to come, we come in couples, at least;
then we're generally all right. Besides, there are a hundred
things one has to know, which we understand all about and you
don't, as yet. I mean passwords, and signs, and sayings which
have power and effect, and plants you carry in your pocket, and
verses you repeat, and dodges and tricks you practise; all simple
enough when you know them, but they've got to be known if you're
small, or you'll find yourself in trouble. Of course if you were
Badger or Otter, it would be quite another matter.'

`Old Toad?' said the Rat, laughing heartily. `He wouldn't show
his face here alone, not for a whole hatful of golden guineas,
Toad wouldn't.'

The Mole was greatly cheered by the sound of the Rat's careless
laughter, as well as by the sight of his stick and his gleaming
pistols, and he stopped shivering and began to feel bolder and
more himself again.

`Now then,' said the Rat presently, `we really must pull
ourselves together and make a start for home while there's still
a little light left. It will never do to spend the night here,
you understand. Too cold, for one thing.'

`Dear Ratty,' said the poor Mole, `I'm dreadfully sorry, but I'm
simply dead beat and that's a solid fact. You MUST let me
rest here a while longer, and get my strength back, if I'm to get
home at all.'

`O, all right,' said the good-natured Rat, `rest away. It's
pretty nearly pitch dark now, anyhow; and there ought to be a bit
of a moon later.'

So the Mole got well into the dry leaves and stretched himself
out, and presently dropped off into sleep, though of a broken and
troubled sort; while the Rat covered himself up, too, as best he
might, for warmth, and lay patiently waiting, with a pistol in
his paw.

When at last the Mole woke up, much refreshed and in his usual
spirits, the Rat said, `Now then! I'll just take a look outside
and see if everything's quiet, and then we really must be off.'

He went to the entrance of their retreat and put his head
out. Then the Mole heard him saying quietly to himself, `Hullo!
hullo! here-- is--a--go!'

The Mole came and crouched beside him, and, looking out, saw the
wood that had been so dreadful to him in quite a changed aspect.
Holes, hollows, pools, pitfalls, and other black menaces to the
wayfarer were vanishing fast, and a gleaming carpet of faery was
springing up everywhere, that looked too delicate to be trodden
upon by rough feet. A fine powder filled the air and caressed
the cheek with a tingle in its touch, and the black boles of the
trees showed up in a light that seemed to come from below.

`Well, well, it can't be helped,' said the Rat, after pondering.
`We must make a start, and take our chance, I suppose. The worst
of it is, I don't exactly know where we are. And now this snow
makes everything look so very different.'

It did indeed. The Mole would not have known that it was the
same wood. However, they set out bravely, and took the line
that seemed most promising, holding on to each other and
pretending with invincible cheerfulness that they recognized an
old friend in every fresh tree that grimly and silently greeted
them, or saw openings, gaps, or paths with a familiar turn in
them, in the monotony of white space and black tree-trunks that
refused to vary.

An hour or two later--they had lost all count of time--they
pulled up, dispirited, weary, and hopelessly at sea, and sat down
on a fallen tree-trunk to recover their breath and consider what
was to be done. They were aching with fatigue and bruised with
tumbles; they had fallen into several holes and got wet through;
the snow was getting so deep that they could hardly drag their
little legs through it, and the trees were thicker and more like
each other than ever. There seemed to be no end to this wood,
and no beginning, and no difference in it, and, worst of all, no
way out.

`We can't sit here very long,' said the Rat. `We shall have to
make another push for it, and do something or other. The cold is
too awful for anything, and the snow will soon be too deep for us
to wade through.' He peered about him and considered. `Look
here,' he went on, `this is what occurs to me. There's a sort of
dell down here in front of us, where the ground seems all hilly
and humpy and hummocky. We'll make our way down into that, and
try and find some sort of shelter, a cave or hole with a dry
floor to it, out of the snow and the wind, and there we'll have a
good rest before we try again, for we're both of us pretty dead
beat. Besides, the snow may leave off, or something may turn
up.'

So once more they got on their feet, and struggled down into the
dell, where they hunted about for a cave or some corner that was
dry and a protection from the keen wind and the whirling snow.
They were investigating one of the hummocky bits the Rat had
spoken of, when suddenly the Mole tripped up and fell forward on
his face with a squeal.

`O my leg!' he cried. `O my poor shin!' and he sat up on the
snow and nursed his leg in both his front paws.

`Poor old Mole!' said the Rat kindly.

`You don't seem to be having much luck to-day, do you? Let's
have a look at the leg. Yes,' he went on, going down on his
knees to look, `you've cut your shin, sure enough. Wait till
I get at my handkerchief, and I'll tie it up for you.'

`I must have tripped over a hidden branch or a stump,' said the
Mole miserably. `O, my! O, my!'

`It's a very clean cut,' said the Rat, examining it again
attentively. `That was never done by a branch or a stump. Looks
as if it was made by a sharp edge of something in metal. Funny!'
He pondered awhile, and examined the humps and slopes that
surrounded them.

`Well, never mind what done it,' said the Mole, forgetting his
grammar in his pain. `It hurts just the same, whatever done it.'

But the Rat, after carefully tying up the leg with his
handkerchief, had left him and was busy scraping in the snow. He
scratched and shovelled and explored, all four legs working
busily, while the Mole waited impatiently, remarking at
intervals, `O, COME on, Rat!'

Suddenly the Rat cried `Hooray!' and then `Hooray-oo-ray-oo-ray-
oo-ray!' and fell to executing a feeble jig in the snow.

`What HAVE you found, Ratty?' asked the Mole, still nursing
his leg.

`Come and see!' said the delighted Rat, as he jigged on.

The Mole hobbled up to the spot and had a good look.

`Well,' he said at last, slowly, `I SEE it right enough. Seen
the same sort of thing before, lots of times. Familiar object, I
call it. A door-scraper! Well, what of it? Why dance jigs
around a door-scraper?'

`But don't you see what it MEANS, you--you dull-witted
animal?' cried the Rat impa-tiently.

`Of course I see what it means,' replied the Mole. `It simply
means that some VERY careless and forgetful person has left
his door-scraper lying about in the middle of the Wild Wood,
JUST where it's SURE to trip EVERYBODY up. Very
thoughtless of him, I call it. When I get home I shall go and
complain about it to--to somebody or other, see if I don't!'

`O, dear! O, dear!' cried the Rat, in despair at his obtuseness.
`Here, stop arguing and come and scrape!' And he set to work
again and made the snow fly in all directions around him.

After some further toil his efforts were rewarded, and a very
shabby door-mat lay exposed to view.

`There, what did I tell you?' exclaimed the Rat in great triumph.

`Absolutely nothing whatever,' replied the Mole, with perfect
truthfulness. `Well now,' he went on, `you seem to have found
another piece of domestic litter, done for and thrown away, and I
suppose you're perfectly happy. Better go ahead and dance your
jig round that if you've got to, and get it over, and then
perhaps we can go on and not waste any more time over rubbish-
heaps. Can we EAT a doormat? or sleep under a door-mat? Or
sit on a door-mat and sledge home over the snow on it, you
exasperating rodent?'

`Really, Rat,' said the Mole, quite pettishly, `I think we'd had
enough of this folly. Who ever heard of a door-mat TELLING
anyone anything? They simply don't do it. They are not that
sort at all. Door-mats know their place.'

`Now look here, you--you thick-headed beast,' replied the Rat,
really angry, `this must stop. Not another word, but scrape--
scrape and scratch and dig and hunt round, especially on the
sides of the hummocks, if you want to sleep dry and warm to-
night, for it's our last chance!'

The Rat attacked a snow-bank beside them with ardour, probing
with his cudgel everywhere and then digging with fury; and the
Mole scraped busily too, more to oblige the Rat than for any
other reason, for his opinion was that his friend was getting
light-headed.

Some ten minutes' hard work, and the point of the Rat's cudgel
struck something that sounded hollow. He worked till he could
get a paw through and feel; then called the Mole to come and help
him. Hard at it went the two animals, till at last the result of
their labours stood full in view of the astonished and hitherto
incredulous Mole.

In the side of what had seemed to be a snow-bank stood a solid-
looking little door, painted a dark green. An iron bell-pull
hung by the side, and below it, on a small brass plate, neatly
engraved in square capital letters, they could read by the aid of
moonlight

MR. BADGER.

The Mole fell backwards on the snow from sheer surprise and
delight. `Rat!' he cried in penitence, `you're a wonder! A
real wonder, that's what you are. I see it all now! You argued
it out, step by step, in that wise head of yours, from the very
moment that I fell and cut my shin, and you looked at the cut,
and at once your majestic mind said to itself, "Door-scraper!"
And then you turned to and found the very door-scraper that done
it! Did you stop there? No. Some people would have been quite
satisfied; but not you. Your intellect went on working. "Let me
only just find a door-mat," says you to yourself, "and my theory
is proved!" And of course you found your door-mat. You're so
clever, I believe you could find anything you liked. "Now," says
you, "that door exists, as plain as if I saw it. There's nothing
else remains to be done but to find it!" Well, I've read about
that sort of thing in books, but I've never come across it before
in real life. You ought to go where you'll be properly
appreciated. You're simply wasted here, among us fellows. If I
only had your head, Ratty----'

`But as you haven't,' interrupted the Rat, rather unkindly, `I
suppose you're going to sit on the snow all night and TALK
Get up at once and hang on to that bell-pull you see there,
and ring hard, as hard as you can, while I hammer!'

While the Rat attacked the door with his stick, the Mole sprang
up at the bell-pull, clutched it and swung there, both feet well
off the ground, and from quite a long way off they could faintly
hear a deep-toned bell respond.